


Fire

by doyou000me



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Pyromaniac Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:16:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27434167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doyou000me/pseuds/doyou000me
Summary: When Harry burns the bacon for the first time as a child, he is immediately drawn to the flame - if that first time was an accident, the second time definitely wasn’t.
Kudos: 18





	Fire

The first time, I really didn’t do it on purpose. I was - what? - five or six years old, maybe, and aunt Petunia asked me to watch the bacon while she tried to get Dudley out of bed. I was too young. I was also too short, and couldn’t even see the bacon in the pan all that well, balancing on my tip-toes as I was. 

I did smell it when it burnt to black, and then I saw the flame. I don’t think I’ll even forget it, my very first flame, all white and bright and sharply edged by orange. I remember leaning in closer and feeling the heat of it on my face - and the next moment it was all gone when aunt Petunia ripped me away from the stove and I landed hard on the floor as she threw a lid on, killing the small flame before it had a chance to become a proper fire. 

Afterwards, locked in my cupboard, I could still see it dancing against the inside of my eyelids. It was like my very own light in the darkness under the stairs. 

If that first time was an accident, the second time definitely wasn’t. 

We had a supply teacher at school that day, a woman in her early twenties. I was hiding from Dudley and his friends in a corner of the school yard when I saw her trying to light a cigarette. It was autumn and windy. With the cigarette hanging loosely between her lips, she struck one match after another only for it to be snuffed out by the wind. She clearly hadn’t noticed me where I was crouching behind a bench, eyes locked onto the tiny flames that flared for a moment before going out. I was gripping my knees tight, leaning forward on my toes, balancing on the edge of falling over.

Someone called, startling both of us. The teacher turned, hastily stuffing the cigarette and matchbox into her pocket as she hurried away - too hastily, so the matches fell out when she pulled her hand out. I was quick to pick it up, a handful of matches still rattling around inside. 

I couldn’t believe my luck. 

With my back to the wind, I held the matchbox close to my chest to protect the flame. I held my breath, picked out one of the thin matches and struck it the way I’d seen the teacher do it. 

Nothing. 

I struck it again, and again, and on the fourth strike the flame flared. For a few, precious moments, it burned before my eyes before the wind snaked around me and blew it out. 

The second match snapped when I tried to light it. 

My hands shook so badly the third one almost did as well, but I managed to get a second of a flame from it before it blew out. 

I held the matches and matchbox close to me, tried cupping my hand around the flame, watched with my heart skipping in my chest when I managed to keep the match burning for a few seconds. 

The supply teacher must have noticed that her matchbox was gone. I was so focused on the little flame fluttering between my hands I didn’t notice her come back. It wretched a cry of dismay out of me when she snatched the matchbox back, and the wind felt colder than ever before when she grabbed me by the neck of Dudley’s old sweater and dragged me to the principal’s office. I vaguely remember there being talk about me not playing with the other children, about my background as an orphan and what was my home situation really like?

As far as I remember, it ended with the longest time I’ve ever been locked in the cupboard without food. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. The only thing I could think of was when I’d be able to do it again. 

After that, they kept an eye on me both at the school and in the house. I’d been identified as a proper problem child. For the Dursley’s it was nothing but a confirmation of what they’d always known, so it didn’t really change all that much. Still, the house was cleared of all matches and lighters, Vernon installed smoke detectors and I wasn’t allowed anywhere near the stove from that day on. 

When winter rolled around with an icy wind that howled around the corners of Privet Drive, I sat curled up on my cot under a ratty blanket, arms wrapped tight around myself. The draft coming in under the front door made my cupboard freezing cold and I couldn’t stop shivering. I remembered the heat of that very first flame and in that moment, I wished for nothing more than to feel it again, for a white, flickering flame to drive the cold away. I was begging for it silently under my breath, just please, please, please over and over again with my eyes squeezed shut, and then I felt it. 

Warmth. 

My eyes snapped open, and there it was. A small flame licking the edge of my blanket. It spread slowly along the foot of the cot, my eyes wide and heart beating hard as the flame grew. On the underside of the stair, the white paint turned brown and bubbly, then black and curled around the edges. There was smoke and the smell of what I now know to be burning plastic, and I curled my toes in as the fire crept closer, eating away at the thin mattress. 

The frantic beeping of the smoke detector was a distant annoyance as the crackle of the fire filled my ears. The warmth turned to a heat that burned in my throat and the smoke was stinging my eyes. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t move, and couldn’t bring myself to want to. 

By the time uncle Vernon pulled me out of the cupboard, the stairs had caught on fire above me and the flames were roaring. The next few hours were a haze as the fire brigade arrived and I was taken to hospital. Uncle Vernon was telling some story about faulty wiring and the nurses were clearly amazed that I was unharmed, saying I must have gotten away lucky from what should have been second degree burns and smoke inhalations. 

I knew there was no faulty wiring. I knew I hadn’t gotten lucky. 

I had wished for the flames, and the flames had come.


End file.
